All In the Eye of the Beholder
by warrior of the nile
Summary: Baz growls softly to himself as Snow sits across the room from him, drawing. Infuriating. Of all the problems he has, now this is going to be an issue as well. What timing he has. Bloody perfect. Oh to be ordinary. Damn his life.
1. Kiss or Kill?

**Baz**

 _Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._

The sound of a pencil against paper breaks through my concentration. Again.

 _Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._

I growl, frustrated. It's not as if I shouldn't be use to it. I've heard it for years now.

 _Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._

It's not even Snow's most annoying habit. Not even in the top ten. Or twenty even. Snow is a terrible roommate, but this particular trait shouldn't even be mentioned as a negative.

 _Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._

It's a quite normal sound in the grand scheme of things. Ordinary. Common. Mundane.

 _Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._

But that never seems to matter.

 _Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._

Some days the noise grates on my ears like nails on a chalk board. Nothing I do can block it. There is no escaping it if I want to be in our room. And I refuse to be driven out of our room by such a unremarkable thing. Pathetic.

 _Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._

I will not leave our room simply because Snow is drawing. Again.

 _Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._

Out of all the so called talents the Chosen One is suppose to have, this is the only one he actually has. He can barely make spells work. His magic doesn't obey him. He goes off like a bomb periodically. He can't talk without stuttering. His attention span isn't that long. He isn't very intelligent.

 _Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._

But he has a talent for art. An actual skill. Not that he goes around showing off his drawings. But I _am_ his roommate. And he leaves his notebook laying around occasionally. So I've seen them. Or, technically, sneaked a look. Sue me.

And Snow is good. No, not good. Snow is amazing. His portraits are spot on. His landscapes are gorgeous. Even his doodles show his skill. He has an entire notebook filled with various cartoons of random events. Teachers. Students. Things he made up.

 _Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._

They've changed over the years. At first, they were relatively simple. He drew what he saw. Pages and pages of student life at Watford. But as he aged, they began to vary. Battles he fought. Challenges he faced. Dreams he has. Nightmares that haunt him.

They've taken a darker turn over the years. Fire and flames. Monsters. The Insidious Humdrum. Swords and magic. There is still Watford, still his friends and girlfriend. But while Snow tells everyone he doesn't think about things, that isn't exactly true. Not completely.

He may not think about them, but he draws them. He tells the paper what he will never admit to another soul. Not even Bunce. Snow may be able to stop his mind, but not his hand. His fingers betray him.

 _Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._

So yes, I've essentially been reading Snow's dairy for years. Have I ever claimed to be good?

 _Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._

I resist the urge to slam my book and yell at Snow to stop the infernal noise. It wouldn't do any good. He wouldn't stop. And why would he? Ordinary people don't find the sound of sketching to be annoying. It doesn't register to them, not really. Ordinary people don't have heightened senses. They aren't constantly blocking the little background noises out. It's automatic.

Ordinary people aren't bloody vampires.

 _Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._

And sure, I've been a vampire since I was five. I'm use to most of the quirks that come with the condition. Except drinking blood. That's still a problem. But the increased strength? Yes. Perfect health? Definitely. Heightened senses? Technically.

The problem isn't that I'm not use to them. I can't remember a time without them. I am in control. That doesn't mean they don't cause issues sometimes. Sensory overload is a thing, even for a bloody vampire. Which is just my luck.

 _Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._

Snow is already suspicious enough of me as it is. I don't need to add to it. And admitting to this will definitely do that.

Plus Snow is the enemy. Even if this doesn't make him suspicious, I'm can't tell him this. What if he finds a way to use this against me? Or rather, what if Bunce does and Snow follows? Although even Snow may be smart enough to know how to use this against me. It isn't hard. Never admit weakness to the enemy.

No matter how much you may love him.

Especially if you are deeply in love with him. Love makes you stupid. Love makes you weak. I am weak enough around Snow as it is. He keeps filling my dreams, along with my nightmares. He follows me everywhere now and I can't even escape in sleep.

 _Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._

I am either going to kiss him or kill him.

 _Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._

Either would be so easy. They fill my thoughts constantly. It is a miracle I can get anything else done. My head is filled with Simon Snow. As if filling my life wasn't enough. I will go insane if I have to live like this for the rest of the year. The rest of the semester. Hell, the rest of the week is going to be a challenge at this point.

 _Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._

That's it. Forget suspicion. If he doesn't leave now, I am going to kill him. "Will you stop that?" I snarl.

Snow looks up, startled. "What?" he asks, confused.

"Stop making so much bloody noise!" I order.

He frowns. "I'm just drawing," he snaps back.

"And it's distracting me," I inform him snidely.

"Stop being a bloody arse. There's no way I am distracting you. I haven't even looked at you all evening."

"Your very presence distracts me."

He bristles at that, but it is the truth. He takes it as an insult, but it's nothing but the truth. His very existence is enough to distract me. I can't block him out. It's like trying to block out the sun.

"Well your face isn't better," he shoots back.

I laugh. I laugh and laugh at that. Oh like he has a clue what I mean. As if he can ever understand. He is just a stupid boy with a stupid destiny and a stupid sword. As if he knows anything about want. Stupid, idiotic mess of a boy.

What can he know?

He glares at me annoyed. Angry. Hateful. It is as if he is trying to light me on fire with his glare. Go on Snow, try it. It shouldn't be hard. I'm flammable after all. Go on and put me out of my misery. It's going to happen one day, why not get it over with?

The air takes on a distinctive smell of smoke. Snow's magic crackles around him, emphasizing his anger. His glare intensifies. I smirk. I smirk and I smirk and I _dare him._  
"Go on Chosen One," I invite him, "do it. Go off on me. _Do it_."

Snow stands up and for a moment I think he really is going to do it. Simon Snow is going to kill me. It's finally going to end.

Good.

But then he makes a sharp turn and runs out of the room instead. The door slams behind him.

As he storms out, I drop my smirk. That works as well. Peace. But then I notice the notebook he left behind. The one I have never been able to look at. Snow keeps this one with him at all times. It's almost as if he doesn't trust me.

I can't resist the temptation and open it. The first page is of a pale boy with a willow peak and grey eyes. I flip through the book and page after page it is the same boy. There are various levels of skill, the beginning being simpler and the newer ones improving. But they are all of the same boy.

It's not until the first cartoon that I understand. Oh. _Oh_.

I feel like an idiot for not realizing it at first. And then I have trouble breathing at the implications. Oh Alister Crowley.

It's me. Snow has a notebook filled of drawings of _me_. I flip to the back pages and take a long look, memorizing it. Part of me feels stupid for doing this. But I can't help it. This is the first time I have seen myself since I was turned.

Yes, vampires are unable to see themselves in mirrors. Or photographs. You can imagine the difficulties this brings growing up.

Of course I have a good idea of what I look like. Fiona is willing to describe my appearance, even if she gets this look in her eyes when I ask. And I can look down easily enough. I can feel my face, my hair. But I haven't seen what I truly look like in years.

But here it is, in black and white.

It is a side profile and I look so bloody serious. My cheekbones are sharp. My hair frames my face. I turn to another page and here is another portrait. There is my willow peak. My dark grey eyes. My nose is too high on my face. And I am smirking. No real surprise there. Snow must be able to draw _that_ expression in his sleep.

I know I smirk quite a bit. So what?

But the implications. For Snow to have a notebook dedicated just to me... And it is, I go to the beginning and look at page after page of me. From eleven till now. For Snow to draw these. This isn't the work of an enemy drawing his opponent. No. This is something much more.

Maybe I'll kiss him after all.


	2. Tosser

**Simon**

I storm out of our room, furious and out of control. Bloody tosser. What an absolute knob head. Who does he think he is? What right does he have to yell at me like that? Stop drawing. What in the name of Morgan and Merlin is wrong with drawing?! It wasn't as if I was bothering him.

"Your very presence distracts me," I mimic as I stomp down the stairs. "Arsehole," I growl. Baz has always been such an arsehole, since the first time we met. The first moment we became roommates. He's horrible. Not as a roommate, but as a person. Person? Can I still call him a person if he's a vampire? Penny is always telling me we have no proof, but I _know_.

My magic crackles around me as I flee the building and run out into the night. The cool air hits me and I can almost see steam roll off of me. The smell of smoke follows me as I walk farther down the path, desperate to calm down. Now that I don't have a target, who knows what my magic would do if I went off.

A target. Oh Merlin. I almost went off on Baz in our room. _I almost went off on Baz_. I could have killed him. Then I would have been kicked out of Watford for breaking the Anthem. I would never see Penny or the Mage or Agatha or Ebb again. I would lose the only home I've ever had.

Baz would be dead.

Damn him why can't he bugger off and leave me the bloody hell alone? I've never done anything to him, why does he hate me? It doesn't make sense. Maybe it doesn't have to. The world has become much weirder ever since I came to Watford at eleven. Before then, I thought I knew all the rules. I knew how things worked.

Now I feel like I'm drowning. Every time I think I have it down, something else pops up. I can never get ahead. Not that I could in the homes either. But at least things made sense there. There are times this still feels like a dream, even after all thee years. There are still times I open my eyes and expect to be in a room with the other rejects that no one wants. Then I do open them and I see Baz sneering at me.

The one time it is a relief to see his face.

Well, not the _only_ time. His face makes my fingers itch and twitch. I long to pick up a pencil every time I see him. I have an urge to capture every expression. Every smirk. Every sneer. Every smile. No one seems to think Baz smiles. Not even his minions seem to think he smiles. Really smiles. But he does. I've seen it, when he thinks no one is looking. Crowley, I've seen the tosser smile and it's beautiful. What a git.

Penny complains I'm obsessed. She says I'm like the mad hatter with tea. One word and I'm off. I protest every time. It's not like that at all. He just has the kind of face that needs to be drawn. Over and over again. There are so many small changes in his expressions. He has five types of smirks. Seven different sneers. At least three kinds of smiles.

And those are only the ones I've seen. Who knows how many expressions he has that I've never seen. What would he look like when he laughs? Does he throw his head back without a care? Or does he chuckle softly, not wanting anyone to hear? Does he snort when he does or is he elegant? So many possibilities for so many expressions.

I always have one notebook where I keep my drawings of Baz. I started it in first year and continued onward. Penny spelled it so the pages never run out. Thank Merlin she's never asked what I use it for. She would definitely use it as evidence to make her case. I couldn't bear the gloating.

I always keep it with me so no one sees it. So Baz doesn't see it. I'm not dense. Well, I'm not _that_ dense. I know he's looked before. But he can't see this one. He would mock me for the rest of our school career. And I definitely couldn't bear that either. So I always carry it wherever I go.

I lean against one of the tree in the Great Lawn, calmer now. Gazing up at the sky, I stare at the sunset. It's pretty. It's always pretty here, away from all the lights. There is a chill in the air, but it feels good. I close my eyes and try to clear my mind. Which should be easy, but isn't. I keep seeing Baz's face when I do. And since he's the reason I am out here, it's not helpful.

Baz has always had this effect on me. No matter what else happens, no matter how bad, he always has a way of getting under my skin. Like he is all that matters. My head is filled with the boy I am destined to kill.

The boy I almost killed tonight.

Would I have? If I went off, would I harm Baz? Any other time when I go off, I protect whoever is with me. I go off and the threat is defeated and the people who are with me are safe. But Baz was the one who set me off. So does that make him the threat? He is one. He is a vampire. He is a son of the Old Families. We are prophesied to fight each other. But would I have killed Baz?

I want to say yes. I should say yes. That is my destiny after all. To kill Baz and stop the Humdrum. I'm the Chosen One. The one who will save the World of Mages. Save us all. That means killing the enemy. And Baz in the enemy.

But his face when he told me to go off on him. I've never seen that expression before. I never want to again. I always want to draw Baz when I see him. But not then. That is not an expression I want to remember. I don't want to see it again.

Despair. Anger. Hate. Loathing. But not at me. I know what he looks like when he looks at me with hate and loathing. That I have drawn before, just because I've seen it so much. But then. That wasn't directed at me. That was for himself.

Why would Baz hate himself? Doesn't he have everything going for him? He's rich, handsome, smart, posh, ruthless. He'd be bloody perfect if he wasn't a vampire.

The sun is set now and everything is quiet. My magic is calm again, settling under my skin like a fire ready to be stoked at any time. All it needs is a wind to start it up again. My hair and clothes smell like smoke. The feeling of soot lingers on my fingers. It's the same thing every time. I am a bomb waiting to destroy everything in it's path.

I drag my hand through my curls. Why can't my magic make sense? Why does it have to be so out of control to be so powerful? Maybe that's why I don't have control. I don't think about my magic because I can't do anything about it. And it scares me. Who in the right mind is scared of their own magic? But my magic doesn't always feel like it belongs to me...

Time to go back. I'm thinking too much again so it's time to go back to my room and do my homework. I shouldn't waste time thinking about things that will never change. I walk slowly to our room, soaking in the peace now. Because I'm going to need it when I get back. Yelling at me for drawing, Merlin. Tosser.

But when I open the door, I realize that I should have been worrying about something else all along. My notebook. The one Baz can never see. Because the first thing I see when I step in our room is Baz looking through it. Fuck.

He looks up, but he doesn't look like I thought he would. There's no sneer, no mocking expression, no cruel joke. He looks almost... gutted. Shocked beyond words. I've never seen Baz speechless before, but now he is. All he does is stare at me, eyes large and unblinking. He is holding my notebook so hard his knuckles are white. Whiter.

I stomp over to him and grab it from his hands. Only, I end up grabbing his hands instead. The touch sends a jolt through me. It feels like I've just been hit with a lightening bolt. Everything is brighter. Clearer. I don't want to let go. I don't want to stop touching him.

So I kiss him instead.

 **Baz**

Simon comes back to the room smelling like smoke. He stomps over to me and I think this is it. This is what I've been waiting for. But then he grabs my hands instead of his notebook and I can't move. A shiver runs down Snow's spine and a shudder runs up mine.

I've touched Snow before, but not like this. Never like this. I should move. I should jerk away and scowl and jeer and mock him. I should. But I can't. I couldn't move right now if the room was on fire. I would gladly burn to feel Snow's skin on mine.

He is looking at me now, not moving away. If anything, he tightens his grip instead. Then he reaches up and kisses me. His mouth is hot. His lips are chapped. He tastes like fire and cinnamon and butter. It is clumsy and messy and overenthusiastic.

It is glorious.

It is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I never want it to stop. Ever. I will happily spend the rest of my life right here, kissing Simon Snow.

He pulls away and I can't help the small whimper that escapes. No. It's too soon to stop. Bloody Snow, can't you give me a few more minutes before you realize what a mistake this is? After all I've been through, can't you give me just a few more minutes? You've already won, can't you give me this before it ends?

 **Simon**

I pull away to breathe and hear Baz whimper. It is a lovely sound. He is looking at me, practically begging me with his eyes to continue. I run a hand through his hair. It's so soft. I caress his cheekbones. They're so sharp. I press my body against his. It's lean and hard.

I kiss him again.

Yes.

 **Baz**

Kiss or kill?

Kiss.


End file.
